Many things were only words, sounds; she could not construct these words and sounds into objects; or, if she did, invariably missed the mark. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. “Just leave them with me for now, Clotilde. Gerald watched its approach with vague interest, which quickened when he saw that it was drawing up outside the very house out of which he had just stepped.
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